


Sharpen

by cinereous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottoming from the Top, Glove Kink, Hate Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Mid-Canon, Overstimulation, Sensation Play, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: A prank gone wrong left Akira and Akechi in an odd predicament. Playing nice was difficult enough without adding sex to the mix. Unfortunately, a sensory enhancement drug gone wrong leaves Akira wide open to payback he hadn't been prepared for.Sequel toAcid Test.





	Sharpen

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Dick or Treat 2019](https://dick-or-treat.dreamwidth.org/)! Please go check it out! Beta read by habenaria_radiata. 
> 
> This is also a sequel to [Acid Test](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775902). I would absolutely recommend you give it a read first for context!

    The drug Takemi gave him was meant to sharpen the senses. The moment she had mentioned it, Akira wanted it immediately. To be able to hear a shadow from further away sounded perfect. It would also help him with his lockpicking, or being able to see things across wide spaces. It was a thief's dream.  
  
    It turned out to be a nightmare.  
  
    "Joker? Can you hear me?"  
  
    He's almost certain that was Ann's voice, but it was utterly booming in his ear despite her whispering. It drove stakes into his head, and Akira absently wondered why he felt embarrassment. The telltale tickle of tears spilling down his face answered his question.  
  
    "Stop talking. _Please_ ," he begged, shoving away from her and the miasma of flower perfume that made him feel like thorns were growing and raking through his nose. He wanted to _die_.  
  
    Outside the safe room door, he could hear the loud pounding of music, and the lights were so bright he could still see them through his closed eyes. The others were still talking, despite his wishes for them to shut the _fuck_ up. Had they not heard him? How could they not? His own voice had been like a crack of thunder to his ears.  
  
    Out of nowhere, his face was grabbed. Akira struggled against the hyper sensitivity of leather on his skin, but the next thing he knew, fabric was being shoved into his ears. It hurt like nails, and Akira fought and flailed to get away. Whoever it was had been fast though. The next moment they disappeared, leaving space for a second person to haul his jacket off and dump it over his head like a veil.  
  
    A muffled voice called to him. It shouldn't have been audible, but in his state, it was clear as day.  
  
    "Open your eyes."  
  
    He knew that voice. Akira grit his teeth and shook his head, wanting to rip his mask off because the miniscule weight of it was making his skin scream. He couldn't open his eyes! The lights in the safe room would blind him!  
  
    "It's alright,” the voice came again, soothing and calm. “We're under your coat. It's dark. Please look at me."  
  
    O-oh.  
  
    Akira's eyes slowly fluttered open in terror. His painful vision flooded with the image of Akechi wearing his stupid bird mask. He was having to look at him from an angle to avoid poking him with the beak, but his eyes were familiar.  
  
    "We're going to leave the palace. You're in no state to continue. Show me what you took."  
  
    Akira wanted to scream, but he dared not. He knew his eardrums might actually burst in his condition. Instead, he just shakily thrust out the little baggie with the remaining doses inside.  
  
    Akechi nodded, not quite looking like he pitied him. It wasn't concern either. There was calculation in his stare, like he was moving chess pieces on an invisible board. At least until he fell into one of his customary too-sweet-to-be-real smiles. "Well, we should get moving. I'd hate to have you continue suffering down here. We'll make sure you're right as rain."  
  
    An acidic retort sat barbed on his tongue, but he didn't trust himself to make a sound. Akechi disappeared from beneath the coat, and he could perfectly hear every word they whispered through both his makeshift earplugs and his coat. They were discussing a strategy to get out of Mementos and then to the clinic.  
  
    Getting out of Mementos turned out to be a process that involved using every last one of his smoke bombs. It worked. At the top of the elevator, they all prepared for the worst. Nobody could have been ready, though.  
  
    One moment, Akira was breathing slow and terrified beneath his jacket tent, and the next blaring, thundering, crashing _titanic_ sound hit him all at once. Cars, talking, a siren blocks and blocks away, shoes on pavement, the train underground fuckfuck _fuck_!  
  
    His vision closed in around him like dark water. The last thing he heard was Ann's deafening gasp and strong arms catching him before he hit the ground.  
  
  
\---------------  
      
    It was the sound of creaking floorboards that woke him.  
  
    Akira jerked against the sheets as if he’d been falling. His whole body was covered in a cold sweat, and the lumpy mattress beneath him dug cotton fists into his spine. He somehow knew to keep his eyes closed, but his ears still felt funny.  
      
    He lifted a hand to touch them, finding foamy earplugs shoved into them. Just the brush of his fingertips against his ears made his whole body tremble like a leaf.  
  
    "Go slow," a voice commanded softly, but it was a voice Akira recognized. More details floated to him while he laid there. The powerful scent of spices and coffee banged through his senses like metal pots and pans, and the dust heavy in the air burned at his nose.  
  
    He was back at Leblanc. How?  
  
    "It's alright. You can open your eyes. It's dark."  
  
    He wanted to argue the fact a second time, but he felt like his sensitivity was not as visceral and intense now. Akira took a huge breath and very slowly peeked through his lashes. The attic was, indeed, dark. He turned his head a bit until he could see Akechi there. He was sitting on an overturned bucket like it was a throne. He had his legs primly crossed and a perfectly neutral expression on his face that Akira could see even in the dark. It was like the moon was pure sunlight.  
  
    He was wearing his gloves again. The ones that he had left behind last time, which meant he knew Akira had kept them.  
  
    Before he could stop himself, heat flushed across his face that felt like actual fire in his sharpened state. Oh god. He had masturbated wearing those more than once.  
  
    He tried desperately not to let his thoughts be obvious on his face as he slowly tried to sit up. His head was a jagged landmine of pain, and he clutched at it helplessly. Akira had to assume it was the pain that made it take so long for him to notice that he was completely naked.  
  
    And Akechi was just staring at him. His leather clad fingers brushed a curtain of his hair from his eyes, the movement purposefully genteel and soft. His expression was one of carefully crafted mild interest and nothing more.  
  
    "Why am I naked?" he croaked. Was that his voice? It sounded as rough and loud as breaking glass. "Why are you here? How did I get here?"  
  
    A smirk bloomed across Akechi's face, the man moving to slowly walk over to the shelving unit nearby. That's where the gloves had been before. Now he could see a small row of little bottles and a syringe. A syringe that Akechi picked up, along with one of the containers of medicine.  
  
    It was perfectly reasonable to be scared of Akechi with a sharp object. That's what he told himself. It was equally reasonable to crab walk on the mattress further towards the wall in an attempt to put more space between them.  
  
    The other man seemed unruffled. He was busy inserting the needle into the top of the bottle and drawing the liquid from inside with all of the clinical precision of a doctor.  
  
    Or a mad scientist maybe.  
  
    Akira narrowed his eyes at it and bared his teeth. "What is that?"  
  
    The last thing he expected was Akechi giving a huge, dramatic roll of his eyes. "I don't _know_ , Kurusu. Your shady, under the table doctor friend gave this to your friends and I to get you under control. You have to be dosed every hour until these are gone."  
  
    His words were airy, but there was such an undercurrent of disdain that every syllable was like a bite at his already too sensitive skin. The syringe now full, Akechi put the bottle down and advanced. His knee made the bed dip, and for as small as that indent was, it made Akira feel like he was tipping closer to him against his will.  
  
    "So, by all means," Akechi continued, his pleasant, boyish features sharpening into a keen little slash of a smile. "Refuse to take it. It would be fascinating to watch you squirm and cry because of your own hubris. _Or_...you could hold still and let me get this over with. I'm trying to fix it. You _do_ want me to fix it, right? I believe those were _your_ words once."  
  
    Oh, fuck.  
  
    Akira's stomach shriveled on impact and went molten hot at the reminder of their last meeting in this room; the night his prank against Akechi had gone wrong, and he'd had to help the desperate man get off before the aphrodisiac drove him mad.  
  
    He didn't particularly like the tables turning.  
  
    Especially because now Akechi had both knees on the bed, wobbling closer with the syringe winking in the moonlight. Akira had nowhere else to go. When surprisingly strong hands pushed his legs down flat and Akechi straddled him, he couldn't help but shiver.  
  
    Gloved fingers slid into his hair with shocking gentleness. As the other man sweetly sifted through his curls, he could feel every strand like they were raw nerve endings. The concoction still in his blood made this small motion feel like a million ants on his scalp at once, but somehow _good_.  
  
    He could be forgiven for his distraction when Akechi suddenly fisted his fingers and _yanked_ instead. Akira cried out in pain, his whole body convulsing at such a harsh sensation. The bend of his neck was uncomfortably taut, to the point he gave a passing, delusional thought to it snapping. It gave Akechi the opening he needed though, and the intense, cold sting of the needle in his neck was more painful than it had any reason to be. Akira shouted angrily and dug his nails into this asshole's forearm. It only served to deepen his smirk.  
  
    By the time the needle finally pulled free of his skin, Akira had tears clouding his vision, so hot they were like pure lava dripping down his cheeks in hateful rivulets.  
  
    "You're welcome," Akechi purred, planting a warm, damp kiss to his forehead before he moved away. His warmth went with him, leaving Akira cold and feeling rather like he'd been ravaged despite only being given a shot.  
  
    Seconds ticked by, but with each one, he could feel some of the intensity going softer. All the serrated edges feathered just enough to make the world livable. It was relief Akira had never felt before as he collapsed back down against the sheets. They were scratchy on his skin, but the sensation of million grit sandpaper was gone. In its place was the feeling of burlap against a sunburn. It was not much better, but it was a start.  
  
    His ears picked up a million sounds, from the clink of the glass bottle and syringe on the shelf, to a cat meowing somewhere outside. They also could hear the whisper of cloth.  
  
    He didn't want to look, but he turned his head anyway. The feeling that hit him at seeing Akechi out of his blazer and lazily unbuttoning his shirt was not shock. No, it was excitement. And nervous terror.  
  
    Akira's nakedness seemed to sink in further, humiliation scalding every inch of his body under Akechi's cool gaze. The metallic sound of Akechi's belt sent a tremor of lust so potent it _hurt_ into the pit of his stomach, sharp enough Akira gasped and jerked a hand out. He shoved his pillow hard over his own crotch, moaning desperately with pure embarrassment and pleasure as that godawful burlap scratch of cotton somehow made his arousal spike instead of wane.  
  
    "It's not like I haven't seen it before," Akechi scoffed, and Akira could _hear_ the roll of his eyes. He could also hear his soft footsteps followed by the sensation of the bed dipping once again. This time, Akechi was even less gentle.  
  
    Shockingly warm, soft hands grabbed at his wrists, shoving them into the mattress on either side of his head. His weight should have felt small. Akira remembered the last time and how surprisingly light he had felt in his lap. Now, he felt like a twenty ton weight bearing over him because his very body heat had all the presence of stone against his skin.  
  
    Sharp knees descended around his hips. It was all the warming he received before Akechi was suddenly shoving his weight down on top of the pillow that hid him and _grinding_. Pressure, merciless texture, and primal reaction all slammed into him at once. It blurred out the world, and Akira shouted and bucked up wildly for more. Everything hurt and screamed and _begged_.  
  
    Akechi only smirked, his hair falling down around his face. Akira's vision was so good in that moment he could even make out a hint of the blood red color in the dark. Or, perhaps, he made it up, given the taste of pennies that flooded his tongue, sharp pain alighting against his lip where he had bitten down too hard.  
  
    A soft 'tsk' was all the sound Akechi made, releasing one of his wrists to drag his leather clad thumb heavily against this new cut. His smug look lingered, but Akira could swear that his eyes looked less barbed.  
  
    Akira could only describe the kiss that followed as _consuming_. Gone was the Akechi so addled and needy that his fire only came in flares and crackling sparks. In his place was a man hell bent on eating him alive. His lips were tacky with chapstick just like he remembered, the peppermint oil in it so cold it burned like ice and made Akira gasp on impact. It was exactly the opening Akechi wanted.  
  
    His tongue pried his mouth open wider with vicious authority, plunging inside to map out every last corner he could find like Akira was a new, untouched land that he was driving a flag into it. He moaned for him, but the sound was guttural and lost. His free hand rushed up to cling into Akechi's hair, needing an anchor in that chaotic moment.  
  
    His hair was thick and silken against his palm. It was the first genuinely pleasant sensation he'd experienced so far, and it calmed his nerves even as the mint stung at his cut lip. Akechi seemed to really like the soft whimper of surprised pain he made, roughly dragging his teeth against it to make him whine again.  
  
    Akira growled. The hand in his hair moved fast, slamming up into Akechi's chest hard enough to break them apart. " _OW_!"  
  
    If Akechi was chagrined, his smirk hid every ounce of it. He looked fucking _pleased_. Akira hated how powerfully attractive it looked on his face.  
  
    "Sorry," he offered back, voice practically a singsong, sweet like honey and hiding razors of sarcasm. Akira had to watch while Akechi reached over towards the window sill. On it was a small yellow tube that the man popped open and dragged along his lips.  
  
    The smell of peppermint filled the space between in a frosty cloud that assaulted his senses. That scent had haunted his dreams for days now. During his precious few private moments where he could slide on Akechi's left behind gloves and touch himself frantically in the dark, his nose would be full of the ghost of this scent, lips tingling with the memory of their kiss.  
  
    He'd thought about what it would feel like on his cock so many times now, it was a shock he'd been concentrating in class at all the past week.  
  
    And here it was again, wafting into his nose and lighting up memories and desires like a pinball machine. It wasn't his fault that when he felt sticky, icy lips against his neck, he lurched up off the bed like a man possessed. "Oh fuck, Akechi, yes," he babbled, feeling icicles rake jagged teeth along his pulse point and feather soft hair caress along his adam's apple.  
  
    The kisses dragged down the column of his throat. Frost mixed wildly with the heated steam of Akechi's breaths, snow and ashes pooling into the starving dip of his collarbone. His arousal ached and fucking _hurt_ where it was still trapped against belly beneath the scratchy, suffocating pillow and Akechi's weight.  
  
    Akechi's chuckle was really a purr. There was no other explanation for the vibration of it that he could feel through his entire body. Akira shivered violently and mewled, but the sound changed into a broken scream as slick lips wrapped around one of his nipples. The sting of cold and the rapturous, jungle heat of his tongue sent his mind shrieking into the night.  
  
    There was nothing he could do. Akechi held him down, docile and powerless, tonguing at the hypersensitive skin and then blowing against it to make him writhe. His insides were a raging inferno. Ash filled his stomach, his lungs, his heart; too hot for coals, too hot for embers. He felt like scorched land, bared and carved against the landscape.  
  
    "Fuck! Akechi, STOP," he rasped, throat parched and raw while his body clamored for a shred of agency.  
  
    Akechi stopped.  
  
    Akira gave a vague sob of relief, gulping in desperate lungfuls of air and staring up at the man above him through watery eyes. His whole body buzzed and throbbed, angry and demanding. Akira watched with miserable, bone deep pleasure as the man cocked a brow and lifted his wrist up to his mouth. His teeth glinted in the dark, sharp and beautiful, delicately biting into the edge of his glove and tugging it more snugly on his hand. At the same time, his other hand went to his neck where he had left his stupid tie. Those two were the only items of clothing he'd left on, and it was oddly torturous to watch him loosen the knot and tug it away with a rasp of silk on skin.  
  
    "I don't know if stopping is what you actually want me to do," Akechi crooned, pushing his ass down harder into the pillow beneath him until Akira's gasp juttered out of him against his will. His expression darkened like ink spilling across paper. Lust slithered like snakes in Akira’s gut, taking away any doubt that he found the expression incredibly sexy.  
  
    "I didn't peg you for a coward, Kurusu."  
  
    His tone felt oddly theatrical and out of place, but it took only a split second before memory punched him in the solar plexus. He'd fucking said that to Akechi. He'd goaded him with it that night, and it had worked.  
  
    Maybe that’s why he didn't struggle when Akechi started to move. He went higher on his knees and released his wrists, yanking the pillow free from his lap. The immediate burst of cool air against his blisteringly hot arousal was all the distraction Akechi needed to lean forward and shove the pillow beneath his head instead.  
  
    It was...strangely kind of him. The comfort of it was nice, and Akira was about to open his mouth to thank Akechi when those maddening, hot and cold lips descended over his own once again. This time around, Akira desperately tried to meet him in the kiss. He craned his neck up to chase after him, his tongue dueling with all the finesse he used to handle his blade. His world was fire and ice and teeth.  
      
    And silk.  
  
    He felt his arms being moved, and his inhale was muffled into the man’s mouth. In his distraction Akechi's fingers had encircled his wrists once again. Instead of simply hold them, he began to pull them upwards towards his head. He burrowed one of his arms beneath the pillow like a snake, letting his other arm remain free above it. In the end, they both met in the same place above his curls, the pillow ostensibly trapped between his arms, but still sweetly cushioning his head.  
  
    Silk slithered around each wrist in place of his fingers. Akira had just enough of his mind left to realize what was happening. He jerked backwards from the kiss with wide eyes in time to feel the knot between them go tight. He tugged at his hands, finding them neatly tied together and rendering escape impossible unless he wanted to spend several minutes trying to wiggle and shove the pillow out from between his arms.  
  
    It was fucking _clever_.  
  
    Akechi obviously thought so too, leaning back on his knees to admire his handiwork. His eyes said they knew he couldn't escape either. They glowed in the dark with that knowledge while he shuffled backwards slowly until he was straddling Akira's thighs instead of his hips.  
  
    Seeing his erection painfully flushed and straining towards the ceiling had Akira going red as a cherry, fighting against his bonds with the thoughtless need to cover himself from view. Akechi seemed to relish every second of it before he finally reached out and wrapped his gloved fingers around his cock.  
  
    His only thought amid his keening moan of euphoria was that this.... _this_ was how he felt with the effect dampening drug in his system. This sensation of pleasure so deep and heady it felt like bone melting nails and pins and needles turned into colors was barely a taste of what he could have been feeling.  
  
    Akira was sure the overstimulation would have killed him.  
  
    Instead, it just made him wail and scream and beg. He struggled and thrashed his hips up for more, more of anything Akechi would give him. The leather felt buttery and soft, the seams digging into the prominent vein along the underside of his cock. It did wonders for his pride to look down and see how thick and how much larger he looked in Akechi's more delicate hand than his own. It was shame, however, that filled him as he watched precum dripping slowly down his fingers.  
  
    He wanted to beg for mercy. He wanted to ask for another shot before he lost himself in this deep trench of arousal that was threatening to swallow him whole. Akechi appeared to sense that ledge he had found, lifting his hand away from his erection with a softer looking smile.  
  
    It was agonizing eye contact that left Akira feeling like an insect held in place by pins and glass. Akechi once again lifted his hand up towards his face, but this time Akira could see the pearly traces of his own lust soiling the black leather. That knowledge made it all the more soul rending and dirty to watch when Akechi opened his mouth and pressed the tip of his middle finger between his lips.  
  
    Akira imagined he could almost taste the salt and bitterness on his tongue while he smelled as much as tasted the leather. He felt utterly captivated, unable to look away. Akechi did not appear to preen under his attention so much as _demand_ it with his gaze.  
  
    The finger slowly dragged free. At the edge of his lips, Akechi's teeth slid into view, biting down on the seam to tug his hand free with tantalizing slowness. For all that Akira knew, it was a glove, but it looked and felt like Akechi was shedding his skin. The movement of stretched leather revealing bare skin in this way didn't feel like submission.  
  
    It felt like a renewal. Like a threat.  
  
    Perhaps he wasn't shedding his skin at all. Eyes of earth and blood seared into his own, and Akira couldn't help but think he looked like a lioness savouring a downed gazelle, tasting first blood. Or his fearful, hungry arousal, in this case.  
  
    Akechi leaned over towards the window again. What Akira had dumbly thought was a shorter and fatter chapstick tube, or even one of the medication bottles, turned out to be a very small little container with a pump top. The other man showed no hesitation at all, simply emptied a few pumps of the liquid into his palm and reached down to touch Akira a second time.  
  
    He didn't draw it out in an effort to please him this time. Akira had the panicked realization he was coating his arousal for more activities -- things they definitely hadn't done last time.  
  
    Akira felt lightheaded. He blinked up at Akechi who was applying more to his hand, focusing on his fingers. His shoulders ached from the position he was tied in, and his heart was beating so hard in his chest, he was genuinely worried it would give out.  
  
    Watching Akechi press his still gloved hand into the sheets and lean forward made his pulse spike dizzyingly, but it was the image of the other man reaching around himself followed by a threadbare gasp that made him suck in a ragged breath.  
  
    He was....oh _fuck_. The knowledge that Akechi was looming above him with his fingers plunged inside his own body was so hot Akira couldn't think. Tiny sounds kept leaving Akechi that weren't pain. They sounded like a hitch in his breathing, or a crack in his voice, but he made them over and over again. It was delicate, controlled, and driving him up the fucking wall with longing.  
  
    He wanted to explain. Akira wanted to tell Akechi that he had never looked so fucking sexy in his life. He wanted to take every one of those tiny chipped glass gasps and store them in the heat of his belly for next time he was alone, hard and needing reminders just as desperately as relief.  
  
    The fact that Akechi had him literally tied up and at his mercy, but was preparing himself, was like a blazing knife turning clockwise and pumping poisonous ecstacy into his veins. Akira wanted nothing more in the world than to be able to hurl Akechi onto his back and crawl on top of him.  
  
    Akechi eased his fingers free with a sigh, grabbing what appeared to be a wet nap from the window too. God, how prepared was he for this? How much had he planned while Akira slept naked under his gaze?  
  
    It didn't matter. Not when Akechi was sidling up his body until his pointy knees were digging in around his hips again. Akira felt that position soul deep, licking his lips and watching Akechi grasp his cock to hold it steady. His answering gaze was steel and rust when he looked down into his eyes.  
  
    "Do you trust me?" Akechi questioned, falling back a third time on words from that previous encounter. It made his stomach burn, and feelings he didn’t understand sent a rash of out-of-place gooseflesh coursing along his chest.  
  
    " _No_ ," Akira whispered, blinking heavy lashes and gazing up at him. His vision was blurry despite the enhancement, and it took him a moment to realize his eyes were still wet with tears. "But please don't stop."  
  
    It was what Akechi needed to hear. The sensation of pure, unbridled heat and pressure suddenly engulfing him was enough Akira sobbed up towards the rafters. He didn't sound human to his ears anymore. In a way, neither did Akechi.  
  
     He made those faltering, controlled sounds the whole time he eased down over his cock. He took it better than Akira would have guessed, filling him with feverish wonder as to whether Akechi had practiced at home since that night. Had he fucked himself with his own fingers imagining this? Or imagining the night Akira had used his fingers on him over on the sofa?  
  
    In that moment, it didn't matter. Reality was sharp and painfully good. Knives of pleasure raced across his skin, and Akechi planted his hands, one gloved and one bare, against his chest. He began to rock, gently at first, lifting his hips only an inch before pressing back down. He was feeling him out, dipping his toes in the water, all while Akira gasped and murmured and shook underneath him.  
  
    Every inch of his body was alive with sensation. Touches burned and scraped, his ears thundered with the sheer tidal wave of his pulse, and a bead of sweat dripping down his neck felt as heavy and warm as a tongue.  
  
    "Fuck, Akechi, I'm going to lose my mind. It's too intense," he gasped, knowing he was babbling, but unable to stop when his whole world was imploding.  
  
    Akechi's chuckle was the most brilliantly beautiful thing he'd ever heard in his life. It was rich and deep in his chest, hiding not a single note of the cloying sweetness anymore. Instead, it brought to mind images of his chest and his throat full of jagged crystal that caught the light and threw sound to leave him with this sharp, clear, beautiful laugh.  
  
    "Kiss me."  
  
    Akira halfway expected Akechi to smirk and shake his sweat-damp hair in amusement. Akechi didn't. Lips, butter soft as his gloves, cover his own, and pure relief trampled all of the panic and anxiety inside him to leave behind only want. He couldn't wrap his arms around him, but he jerked his hips up off the bed, driving himself deeper still inside of the other man.  
  
    The unfettered gasp that spilled across his tongue from Akechi was _everything_.  
  
    Fingers dug and snagged in his hair like thorns, but it was the bare fingers that cradled his jaw so softly. Akechi's hips moved with a rhythm that seemed unfairly perfect. It was like there was no pain at all. Their bodies churned together, resembling waves in a rough sea. All Akira tasted was salt from sweat and the peppermint cold.  
  
    He was too close. The overstimulation had him caught somewhere between pure ecstasy and keen agony. His whole world was consumed with molten heat, strangling tightness, the indecent glide and pull against his cock, and the trembling of Akechi's lips against his own as they crashed against one another again and again.  
  
    Akira wanted to tell him what he knew about him. He wanted to tell him about pancakes and plots and spiny, needling irritations over serving him coffee.  
  
    He wanted to tell him of the tightness of his pants when he used plant balm at his work table. How he idly scanned the chapstick aisles in the store in the hopes of figuring out which one was the right one. He wished he could admit that it was strangled, acid filled 'fuck you's that clouded his mind when he spilled into his fist at night.  
  
    The last thing he saw was Akechi above him, bent into an angle of bliss so pleasing he belonged in a museum.  
  
Orgasm hit him so fast and hard his vision blacked out. Pleasure cracked him open with savage hands and flooded every available space inside of his body. Nothing was left untouched by the obliterating scope of it. If he made sounds, he couldn't hear it over the sound of his own rushing blood, and Akira was positive he would have bloody half moons in his palms where he had dug in.  
  
    It dragged on for days, it felt, scooping out every last bit of him and replacing it with shivering, feverish sparks and bubbles that fizzled and pricked and kissed at his skin. His vision slowly swam back to him like he were surfacing in a dark lake after spending an eternity down below unsure of which direction was up.  
  
    There before him was Akechi. Akira spasmed weakly, realizing his cock was _still_ inside of him. Akechi did not seem to mind or care. He roughly fisted at his own erection, staring with all of the intensity of the lioness he had compared him to in his mind. His chest worked rapidly with his labored breaths, glistening under the moonlight and the sheen of sweat that graced him.  
  
    It felt like a fucking _gift_ to watch when Akechi's lips fell apart around a deep, soul deep and satisfying moan. Deliciously hot wetness bloomed against his stomach, but Akira was busy jerking and wincing while Akechi's body spasmed and tightened around his spent erection over and over again.  
  
    It was a short torture, however, and finally Akechi lifted his now weary body up and let him slide free. Akira felt hollow and delicate as a pysanka; his psyche eggshell thin, but covered in swirling, beautiful designs.  
  
    Akechi looked the same, and that was his only consolation. The man's legs trembled, but it did not stop him from looming forward to gently untie the silk around his wrists. A moment later, both of his arms were back down into their normal position with pins and needles already rushing through them as the blood circulated properly once more.  
  
    He watched Akechi remove his second and last glove, naked only now in the aftermath. With quiet purpose, Akechi put both of them on the window ledge and stretched. His body practically glimmered in the soft light, the still surprising muscle catching moonbeams and tantalizing him before relaxing.  
  
    Cell phone light lit up the space between them, and Akira watched while Akechi looked at his screen with a faint furrow to his brows. When he looked back down though, his smirk was crawling slowly back into place.  
  
    "Rest. You have another shot in thirty minutes. I expect that's plenty of time for you to recover."  
  
    Akira blinked, a niggling worm of soft panic sliding down his gullet. "Recover?"  
  
    "You've got three more doses before you're safe to leave alone. And now you're awake."  
  
    It turned out that thirty minutes was a more than sufficient amount of time to recover when even wafts of air caused his body to sit up at attention. By the time Akechi finally left in the early morning hours of dawn Akira's whole body ached, but the overly sharpened senses had all more or less faded from him.  
  
    Akechi did not make a fuss when he redressed in the soft blue light and fixed his hair. He plucked his phone from the window sill, but hovered over Akira awkwardly for a long time. At last, he leaned down for one final kiss.  
  
    It was slow this time, exhaustion mixing with sated comfort. It was not sticky and sweet like syrup, but warm and luxurious like slipping into a hot bath. However, a final nip of teeth reminded Akira the water still had sharks.  
  
    "Will you fucking learn your lesson with drugs already?" the man whispered. The sneer in his tone was obvious enough, but there was humor too. Akira watched him leave helplessly. His feet were light on the creaky stairs, and the click of the door let him know he was alone as much as the oppressive silence that followed.  
  
    He turned his head and felt heat pool in his stomach that didn't feel like lust, anger, or embarrassment. Every item was left behind this time around save Akechi's phone. The lubricant, the chapstick, the tie.  
  
    And his gloves again.  
  
    Akira tried to pretend the jabbing sensation through his chest was actually a knife instead of something far more sinister. His senses had died down, but for some reason all of his emotions were left even sharper than before.  
  
    He didn't think a shot would fix those.


End file.
